Soothsayer
by jones2000
Summary: AU. X in the Cursed series. Dean can't remember anything before the fire, so there are no leads in the case of the missing Winchester. However, the brothers' attention is diverted by the people in town dying a week after visting the local wise woman.
1. Del

**AN- By now there will be some people saying 'oh God, not another _Supernatural _story'. Um, yeah. Sooner or later I'll start fangirling over something else, but until then, you're stuck with me inflicting the Cursed series on you.**

* * *

_Last time, on Supernatural: Cursed._

Seven years after all Hell broke loose, order has finally been restored. Sam is one the road back to sanity, Dean has managed to escape from Hell, Jo and Ellen have gone off hunting, and Bobby has become responsible for the part-time training of new hunters.

Allies have been found, enemies have been made, and yet more questios have been raised. Was Bill Harvelle's letter right? Had their father's brother really been trying to track the family down?

* * *

'_I spoke to your brother yesterday. He wants to see you, to know you're still alive.'_

Dean sat at the diner's table, his chin propped up in his hands. To either side of his sausages and eggs were Bill Harvelle's letter and the photo from Dad's journal, a photo of two young men on a sunny day by the lake.

"I don't get it, Sam." He said aloud. "In the long list of things he never told us, I though this wouldn't have been one of them."

His brother gripped his glass of juice tighter. "It makes a lot of sense to me." Sam said darkly. "The important things he just let us find out by ourselves."

"Maybe he just thought it would be better that way," Dean immediately jumped to John Winchester's defense. After all, who else was there to do the job?

"You have to admit it was one hell of a learning curve. Look, I don't want an argument, and I do think you're right. What was the deal with not telling _us_, of all people, that he had a brother, that we-"

"Had an uncle." It seemed like a weird notion after all this time, and didn't have the same earth-shattering effect as it should have. After all, how could you be sad about loosing something you never knew you had?

"Had a family." Sam said, stumbling slightly on the word 'family'. He had never really had one of those. There was only him and Dean, and because of the lives they led, there would only _ever _be him and Dean at the end of the day. Then Sam blinked. "Dad never had answers." He said carefully, finally asking directly. "But I think _you_ might."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Am I missing something here?"

"I mean, I can hardly remember what Mom looks like anymore, only 'cause of the pictures. Our house in Kansas is almost a blur now."

"Are you going to get to the point any time son?"

"Dean, if Dad's brother did exist, does exist… can't you remember anything?"

Idly poking his food with the fork, Dean picked up the photograph. There was a certain amount of familiarity there, yes, but… He had tried to remember. Had tried ever since Jo had given them the letter addressed to their dad out of Bill Harvelle's things. To remember a time before, a time before the deaths, before the demons, before the endless road…

He came up a blank every time.

"I can't. There's… nothing."

"Dean-"

"Dude, I'm serious. Maybe I was just too young, but it's like… everything before the fire is in this big hole, and I can't see the bottom."

The brothers were silent for a moment, and Dean took the opportunity to pack away Dad's journal, the photo, and the letter. In the week since they had left Los Angeles, he had read the letter so many times it was practically tattooed on the back of his eyeballs. Written by a man they had never met and only knew through his reputation, it otherwise still gave him a glimpse into another time, which was somehow comforting.

It was comforting because it meant that maybe, just maybe, he and Sammy weren't alone in the world.

Dean decided he'd like to hang on to that hope. Liked the feel of it. Sometimes it was only faith that sustained you, and to have that safety-net shatter…

"What have we got?" With one arm he swept the remnants of breakfast aside. Sam handed him several computer printouts, which he quickly rifled through.

The place they were staying at wasn't big and it wasn't busy. The town wasn't even marked on the map. It was kind of like a pimple clinging onto the butt of Indiana, and that was part of its charm.

A nice, quiet, rural place where nothing much happened.

The death notices dated back to the sixties. "Dude, what the hell?" Dean fanned the pages in his hand. "Accidental drowning, electrocution, asthma attack, heart failure, _slipping on an icy patch_?" He looked across to his little brother skeptically. "Are you loosing it? There's no connection here, no common denominator."

Sam nodded. "That's what I thought to begin with, but it seemed a little too weird. Too neat. Not one murder or anything in all the settlement's history."

"It's a small place." Dean said. "The psychos get run out of town if they're not lynched first."

Sam ignored him. He made a small gesture with his hand as if he could erase Dean's last comment. "Then I was thinking, maybe the deaths we should be looking for are hiding behind a façade of normal. Maybe this _is_ our thing, pretending to be something else so no one chases it up."

"Sam, you need a personality, _stat_."

"And so I started looking for the connections." Sam ploughed on relentlessly, holding his brother's disbelieving stare. "Looked in some of the archives, spoke to some of the families over the phone. Dean."

"Sam?"

"These people-" Sam stabbed his finger down onto the papers. "-all died within a week of visiting the local _wise woman_."

That made Dean sit up and pay attention. "What?"

"Yeah."

"What, was there anything wrong with any of these people?"

"You're thinking, terminal disease wise?" Sam scratched his hairline.

"As in, demonic soul-sucker taking it upon herself to put these people out of their misery when they come to her last-resort wise."

"Nothing I could dig up." Sam said.

"Doesn't mean it isn't there, though." Dean said.

"No."

"Well." Dean grinned. "I guess we've got our next case." He reached for his jacket.

"There's just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"I ran into a young mom back at the archives. The wise woman, well, this mom and her partner had gone camping in the woods and the baby came early. There were complications, and it looked like mom and baby were done for, then…"

"What?"

"This woman delivered the baby, stopped the mom's bleeding, and got in contact with the hospital."

"Why does this concern me?"

"Dean, she didn't hurt anyone, she only helped them. And these people," He once again tapped the obituaries. "Were given herbal remedies, a bunch of hoodoo mojo for all this different crap that they asked her about and it that was working, and then-"

"So you don't think it's this woman behind it all? Someone's bumping off the Good Fairy's patients to make her look bad?" Dean's brow furrowed as he frowned, thinking. "To get _her _lynched instead?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. It's just, if experience has taught me anything, it's that nothing is this cut-and-dried."

Dean reluctantly had to agree. He pulled out his wallet and dropped several notes onto the table to pay for breakfast. "Pack your knickers, Dorothy. Looks like we're off to see the wizard."

"If I'm Dorothy, does that make you Toto?" Sam asked slyly.

Dean didn't miss a beat. "There's no doubt about it," He flashed his cocky grin. "I _am_ your average lovable mongrel."

Sam could only shake his head helplessly.

* * *

Dean had not told his brother, and would probably _never _tell his brother, but he hated hiking. Not that he particularly didn't _like _being outdoors, where the sickly sweet smell of decay was flushed out of his nostrils by the fresh, healthy breeze. It was more of an 'on principle' thing, probably dating back to that time where he had to save everyone on his school camp from a Golem while having a particularly nasty case of poison oak.

The house was nestled among the flowers at the base of a hill that rose steeply behind it. It looked like a nice place, until you saw the barbed wire on top of the fence and the _Trespassers Will Be Shot_ sign. "This Wise Woman must be another satisfied customer of Hermit Real-Estate 'r' Us." Dean commented dryly. "I guess she doesn't entertain much anymore."

He heard Sam crunch up the path behind him. "Or maybe she's trying to discourage people coming here." He said. "In case they get killed."

"Or that."

The path was cracked and old, but the garden behind the wire was well-kept, if a little on the wild side. Dean looked around. "So what now?" He asked. "Did we need an appointment or whatever?"

"She's ex-directory." Sam replied. "I guess we knock on the door."

Which he did. The two waited for a reply, and when there was none, Sam tentatively knocked again.

"Alright! In a _damn minute_!" The door was flung open and standing before them was an annoyed-looking sixty-ish woman, her long hair dyed an unnatural shade of black, and rings of startling blue makeup around her eyes. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying, so push off."

"No, ma'am, we're not selling anything." Sam shook his shaggy head. "I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. We're actually looking for the wise woman."

"The wise woman isn't seeing anyone today." The woman said primly. "Maybe not ever again. So go away, there's no exceptions."

"Ma'am, this is important." Dean said.

"So's my lunch, and I'd really like to get back to it, if you please." She started to close the door and Sam reacted, placing his foot in the gap between doorjamb and door.

"I don't have time for this." She said.

Sam held up his hands. "I know, okay? And if you think we're hassling you, feel free to jam my foot in the door. Give us a minute, yeah? This is important."

Reluctantly the woman opened the door to admit them. She looked the brothers up and down warily. "How do you have your coffee?" She finally asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Coffee. I always find it easier to hear bad news when I have a cup of coffee in my hands. Maybe it's just me."

"Can we meet the wise woman, then?" Dean asked.

"Everything in its time, sonny." The woman said. "Come along, Winchesters." She continued on to the kitchen as the brothers stood awkwardly in the hall. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. _How did she know we were Winchesters?_

She looked back at them, and gave a small smile. "Yes, I know who you are. You boys all look very much alike, you know. Unfortunately it seems you all have the same set of ideals too, which will most likely get you killed." She sighed.

"Who's _us all_?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Oh." She blinked. "You don't know." And then she smiled. "And you may even get a free reading while you are here." She said brightly, and both brothers were aware of the change in subject.

"I was christened Delilah, am called Del by my friends, but the others all have this horrible habit of calling me 'wise woman'. You are both welcome to call me Del."

Already there seemed to be an established familiarity with her, even though both Sam and Dean knew with utmost certainty that they had never met before. _At least, not that either of them could remember._

"Why is that?" Sam followed her into the kitchen. It was bright and cheery, but thankfully not too Stepfordy clean.

"I make unguents and charms to suit certain ailments." Del said. "They calm people and make them more responsive to whatever other treatment they may be receiving professionally, or they sooth the body and the mind long enough that the body may begin to heal itself naturally."

She made three cups of coffee and brought them over to the table with milk and sugar. "And these healings are attributed to you." Sam said, reaching for a cup.

"You don't correct them." Dean said. "You just let these people go around attributing you with miracles?" Sam knew his brother's attitude when it came to anyone remotely resembling a faith healer, and he sighed.

Del looked over at him sternly. "I used to try to explain what I did." She said, with a vaguely defensive note in her voice. "But I soon realized that it was hardly worth it. People don't understand the old ways anymore, the ways of caring for yourself instead of waiting for others to do it for you. As soon as you do something different that's good, it's alternative healing and witchcraft. If I had been alive a hundred years ago, I would have been burned at the stake."

"It's not?"

"Is what?"

"Witchcraft." Dean said. "Only, we've run into these things before, me and Sam, and it always turns out to be some occultist rite behind it all."

"Dean!"

"Only they generally tried _not_ to leave a string of bodies behind." He added flatly.

Del sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. _Any time now,_ Sam thought, _and she's gonna call the cops._ "Do you do this all the time?" She asked. "Pass judgment before you even know the person you are accusing? Tell me, who are you, _Dean_, and do you really have the right to look down on me as you're doing now?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Dean lay down the challenge.

"Very well." Del placed her cup on the table. "Give me your hand."

"Excuse me?"

"You told me to find out myself. That is what I am doing. Give me _your hand_."

After glancing at Sam who shrugged, Dean set down his coffee and reached out across the table. The old woman rested a set of small glasses on her nose and took it, running her fingers over the contours of his hand before turning it over and peering intently at his palm. Dean didn't say anything, eyebrows raised skeptically.

"A sensitive child. A bitter child." The woman said. "Brought up in the darkness and the fire, everything falling apart around him. Damaged."

Sam's eyes were bright as he stared up over the rim of his cup, and there was a half-smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "You're a palm reader," He exclaimed, and the gee-wiz way he said it made Dean want to kick him.

Del continued to stare down at Dean's palm, and now he was quite frankly uncomfortable. "Savior and killer, the eternal enemy your own shadow. Closer and closer to becom-" She stopped mid-sentence. "That's interesting." She commented.

"What is it?" Sam craned his neck to look, and Dean rolled his eyes.

The woman pointed out one of the lines on his brother's palm to Sam. "You see that?" She asked, and Sam nodded. "That's the lifeline. See how it stops just there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do, now you mention it." Sam's brow furrowed.

"Give me your other hand." The woman instructed.

But as soon as Sam and Del began whispering together about how the lifeline on his left hand took up exactly where the one on the right left off, Dean snatched them both back. "Okay. This is getting officially too weird now."

"Your hands." The old woman sat back and looked at him once again. "If I hadn't seen them for myself, I would have said that they were from two different people. How can one man have more than one life?"

Dean pulled a face. "It's complicated."

"Dean," Sam looked back at him, the gee-wiz expression still on his face. "After all the fakes we've found, I think this time, it's for real."

"C'mon, Sammy…"

"I mean it, like, you actually did, and then you came back-"

"Sam, _company_." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Let's not do the whole sharing-and-caring thing until we know a little more about each other, okay?"

Sam looked slightly abashed. Not much, but some. His enthusiasm at having found a possible genuine practitioner of the bygone arts had eclipsed any concern for what his brother might have thought about the whole thing.

"Very well. Let's get to business." Del said.

Dean cleared his throat. "What's the deal with all these people dying after seeing you?"


	2. Unseelie

_'But for corruption thou hast made Belial, an angel of hostility. All his dominions are in darkness, and his purpose is to bring about wickedness and guilt.'- **The War of the Sons of Light Against the Sons of Darkness**, one of the Dead Sea scrolls._

_'He will tarry not one hour in ye truth unless he be constrained by devine power.' - **The Lesser Key of Solomon.**_

_'I'm not writing that you should try to find him, though. Ellen and I both saw him, and there was something – off. Something wrong. John, if you and the boys see him, run like hell.' – WA Harvelle._

It seemed to be a failing with her. Every time. Every _damn _time.

"Deal." She said, reaching across to shake his hand.

A hand that was suddenly no longer human.

"Deal." The demon said, his mouth stretched into a wide mockery of a grin.

And then everything was blackness once more.

His face was so familiar, though Bela couldn't figure out why. He stood directly across from her leaning against her counter, sipping coffee from a mug that read_ Every Day of My Life, I am Forced to Add More Names to the List of People that Piss Me Off. _The humour was eclipsed by the fact that in this case, the snappy slogan was deadly serious. He was deceptively calm, as he asked his question. "Have you done it yet?"

"I need more time." Bela said, a little too quickly.

"You've had time." It was more of a growl as it came out. "Need I remind you who bought your contract? I thought you might be an asset to me, but all I have seen this far is one useless, utter failure."

Bela bowed her head. _My father said I was a failure. Not good for anything, stupid whore…_"No." She said. "But the clients aren't coming in as much as they used to, since…"

"You died? Oh, the bigoted idiots." Her houseguest said cheerfully. She could tell by his tone of voice that he was quiet blatantly taunting her. He was smiling, smug, and all Bela could think was _I could kill you. I could turn around and put this breadknife right through your head and smash your skull._

Startled by the sudden wellspring of maniacal loathing that had welled up inside her, instead of the drastic measures she had just been contemplating, she just sliced off some bread and smothered it with strawberry jam, licking the runoff from her fingers.

"Your time is running out." He said severely. "I _must _have it. It's mine and I want it back." He sounded so much like a human child then that Bela almost smiked.

"Well, that's just tough." She said irritably, an edge of her old persona creeping into her voice. "I _need_ time."

"The curse of time is that we never seem to have enough of it." He said philosophically. "Perhaps you need an incentive."

Bela's eyes narrowed and her hearing sharpened immediately. He had said the magic word. _Incentive. _And then the bubble of excitement that had formed inside her chest burst as she took in the nasty expression on the man's face. "What have you done?"

"What have I done? What _haven't _you done?" He asked crisply. "Come here." He said, and the words weren't directed at Bela, but as some point behind her. She looked up over her shoulder, trying not to think of what evil little surprise he might have fixed up for her.

It was a woman. She was dressed in leather and denim, and her smirk was particularly smug.

She put a hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised disdainfully as she looked down at Bela.

"Honey, I'm home."

"Who is _she _supposed to be?" Bela snarled.

"Now, now. Don't get territorial." The other woman chided.

"Bloody hell, you got me a _babysitter_?" Bela exploded. "I can do just _fine_ without one of your lackeys dangling over my shoulder!"

"Don't forget to who you speak, bitch." The man snapped. She stepped back, aware of his fury, but as quickly as it arrived, his anger subsided. "Bela, Ruby. Ruby, Bela. I'm sure you'll have a very fulfilling life together."

Ruby just folded her arms, looking for all the world like she was having the time of her life. "Oh, yeah. I'm going to have some _fun_ with this one," She said, and her tone made Bela bristle and bear her teeth in a snarl.

"Now, ladies. Chores first and playtime later." The man said. He took Ruby to the side. "Watch her. She may try to warn them. She's not to be trusted."

Ruby lightly punched him in the shoulder. "And you're so sure I am?" She said teasingly, aware that she was pushing against the boundaries by daring to use such familiarity when this demon had innumerable legions under his command.

But the demon lord Belial smiled. "I'm sure you'll do just what I expect you to do." He said, causing Ruby to begin to question just exactly what his role in the game was and how much he had told her was in fact the truth.

After all, he was the Lord of Lies.

Almost seeming to catch her thoughts, Belial smiled. It was a slow, creeping smile that almost immediately set Ruby on edge.

"You don't have any reason to worry. What was mine will be mine again, and Lilith will finally meet the demise she has been avoiding for too long."

* * *

"D'you mind if I smoke?"

"Well, it's not our house." Dean remarked.

"That's true." Del whipped out a cigarette and a little silver lighter with the practiced ease of someone who was a long-time smoker. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Sam wrinkle his nose in disgust. Dude could cut the head off a vamp and play around in the entrails, but when it came to someone lighting up in his immediate vicinity…

"Those will give you cancer." Sam said flatly, seemingly unaware of his brother trying valiantly not to laugh aloud.

Del exhaled a lungful of smoke. "I've been smoking for longer than you've been alive, boy. When my time comes, it comes. You can't escape your fate."

"Sometimes you can." Dean countered.

"Are you sure? Are you _really_?" Once again Sam was hit with the uncomfortable feeling that this woman knew more about them then she should rightly have had. He was excited that he'd found someone who wasn't a fake. But it also made him uneasy. Almost nervous.

It kinda pissed Dean off too. There were always the secrets. When they were dead and done, the damn secrets would still be there.

Del poured herself some more coffee, the butt of her cigarette hanging over the rim of the cup, yet somehow none of the ashes were being shaken in. "Where to begin." She murmured.

"The beginning is usually a good spot." Dean said.

"You're a cheeky sod, you are." Del said, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose it all started with my Ma. She was the wise woman before me. I grew up in this house, around all these people coming to her for ointments, charms," She glanced sideways at the brothers. "Love spells. No one really took her seriously, it was just another quaint country custom that the town liked to spin out for the tourists."

"What tourists?" Sam asked. Del smiled bitterly.

"This town wasn't always the butt of America." She said. "Eighty years ago we were three times this size, at least. We've been shrinking ever since. Young folk, go off to the big cities, in search of something better, more opportunities and suchlike. Older folk, they get spooked, uproot everything and off."

"Spooked by what?" Sam asked.

"My mother used to say it was by the Unseelie." Del said.

"The who?" Dean blinked.

The old woman gave a decidedly twisted smile. "The malicious faries."

"That's it, I'm _so_ out of here," Dean muttered to Sam.

"Sit down, boy. You wanted to hear what I had to say, and now you're going to damn well hear it." Del snapped. She took another drag on her smoke. "We all used to be friends here. The Unseelie used to keep us safe, they did, and all we had to do was leave out a small offering. Some fruit, or maybe a toy, and they'd leave us alone. But all the old ways have been forgotten." She sighed.

"But not by you."

She gave a very wicked-witch-like cackle. "Great lot it's done me. Ma died and I took over, and the old ways, the ways of the earth and the spirit were lost. I kept going, 'cause it was what I was taught. Then they started getting mean. They wanted me to remind the town of what was lost, get the people to revere them once more.

"I tried, God knows I tried. And when I could do no more, they got real pissed." Her voice choked up. "And then that's when it started. The folk that came to me started dying, and I was branded a witch, a hag, and the rest of it. Those poor people…" She trailed off.

"And you believe these faries, these… Unseelies are behind it?" Sam asked.

Del spread her hands wide. "I have no magic." She said. "I go to church and believe in Him that's above it all. I'm not evil. I was brought into this world with knowledge that's been lost through the ages. I try to help, because that's what my Ma and Grandma did before me. And now, all I can do is shut myself away and hope no one comes to me, 'cause I'm afraid that they'll be next. I can't help anymore. The only thing I can do is pray that they've left me for good."

She looked old, then. Incredibly old.

"I just hope they don't go after you next." She said grimly.

"Hey, we can handle them." Dean shrugged. "They're only faries. How tough can faries be?"

He should have known by then not to tempt fate.


	3. The Missing

'_It's out there. Waiting. A storm's coming.' – WA Harvelle._

**One Day Previously**

Camp Quentin was hardly the most popular destination in the summer for a healthy, fit young person. It was popular for the parents that wanted a break away from their precocious little darlings, but most of the children in question would rather be out exploring the hilly outcrops or jumping off the pier then sitting in a stuffy, class-room like lodge making cruddy birdhouses that would be jammed into the bottom of suitcases and forgotten about the second summer came to a close.

Really, most, if not all, the other campers there you wouldn't have been caught dead hanging around any other time.

"Hey! Come back!"

"Forget it. I'm getting my sweet ass out of here."

She raced to catch up to the older boy, having to take three steps to every one of his. "You can't just up and leave. Someone will notice."

"That's why you're gonna cover for me. It's only gonna be for the afternoon. I'll be back by lights out."

"Well, you're hoping!" She grabbed his shoulder. "I've been bailing out your butt for years, and this time I'm coming too!"

"No way!"

"I can call Mom if you want. Or the camp counselor. Then you can spend eight hours thinking of a happy place all over again."

"You're a witch, you are." He sighed in defeat. "Got your stuff or do we have to go back?"

"Everything I need right here." She held up her satchel.

"Right. Let's blow this joint."

It took only a few minutes before the camp was left behind them in the turn of the road. "So we go down to the bus station, catch a ride into town and spend the day at the arcades and whatever. You got your bus pass?"

"I can finally check my emails." She said in relief. "You know we are so dead if we get busted?"

"Well, we'll just have to make sure we're not caught. Wont we?"

It was supposed to be a walk in a straight line down to the station. It was supposed to take half an hour, max. But as they walked, the trees seemed to close in around them, roots rising up out of the ground to trip them up.

"Great. You've got us lost."

"Me? What about you?" He demanded. "You have a map too."

"Oh, yeah…" She scratched her nose as he looked up over his shoulder. "What?"

"I thought I saw someone." He pointed through the leaves. "Through there. I'm gonna check it out. It might be people."

"Or it could be a bear. We should stay on the path and just go back to camp."

He gave her a disdainful look. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, gee. You could get your intestines ripped out and scattered around the next clearing, but boy, what's the chance of that happening?"

"Chicken. Just a _biiig_ chicken."

She stubbornly crossed her arms. "I'm not gonna follow you. I'm not." She said resolutely as he stepped onto the black stone bordering the path. He turned back to pull a face at her before vanishing into the trees.

"I'm not," She muttered, resolution fading now she was alone. In the wood. "Hey!"

Nothing answered.

"Are you there?"

"Oh, I'm going to regret this," She said, and against her better judgment, she left the trail.

"Where are you?" The wood around her seemed less pretty and more menacing. She told herself it was her mind playing tricks on her. "If you're jerking me around, I swear I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

She was still talking to herself, and the branches seemed to get denser and more interwoven the further she walked.

She was lost.

She tried not to give in to it, but eventually fear began to worm it's way down her throat. With shaking fingers, she managed to pull out her map and compass, and almost cried out in shock. The hands of the compass were whizzing about the face so fast they were almost a blur.

The words on the map, whether it was because she was terrified or what, seemed to be running together, washing out until there was nothing on the page. "Hell." She lurched to her feet and ran, certain that there was something behind her, something just out of sight. The trees flashed by her, all of them looking the same.

"Stop this!" She cried aloud, before falling heavily and skinning her knees.

Her foot had become entangled in the strap of a bag.

His bag.

"No! _Ben_!"

* * *

**Present**

"I've got it."

"Oh, great. Now we can start fairy hunting. I'm all aflutter." Dean said, his attention fixed on getting his sandwich _just _right. Sam turned the laptop around.

"These classifications are derived from Scottish folklore." Sam began. "Which divided all known fairies into two Courts, the Seelie and the Unseelie. The Seelie were more… consumer friendly. They would reward humans if the human gave them something, and occasionally would ask people for help, which they would be repaid for later."

"Absolutely _fascinating. _Do go on."

"And on the flipside, there were the Unseelie. Now these were the ones you had to watch for. They like playing violent tricks on people, and a person doesn't even have to do something to piss them off and get their ass kicked."

"Charming little fellows."

"And if you believe popular mythology, they're the ones that started the whole changeling deal."

"Done those. Check." Dean took a bite from his sandwich.

"Even better. These guys travel in packs. All the better to ambush people, I guess."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Dean narrowed his eyes. "I mean, we're still talking about fairies. Little dudes with wings and pixie dust and all that crap, right?"

"Not necessarily." Sam corrected.

"Aw, jeez. I hate it when you say 'not necessarily'." His brother winced. Sam opened another page on the laptop.

"Look, man, it's people like Disney that have made up the modernized version of what a fairy looks like. In pre-Christian times, the forerunner of our modern fairy was tall and beautiful, and you could forget the wings. Those were added centuries later, to romanticize the image."

Dean sat chewing thoughtfully for a moment. "So, we got no leads on why they're killing these people."

"Maybe Del was right." Sam offered. "And they're just doing it to get back at her."

"Maybe, but that can't be just it. I mean," He took another bite of the sandwich. "Th' tow's bin 'ere fer two 'undred years, an' these 're Godfearin' folk. Why 'as it started in th' las' eighty?" He swallowed. "'Scuse me. Like, this place has always been very… Christian, even I can see that there are no pagan identities here _at all, _and it's just been within the last century that they're getting rowdy? What's the deal with that?"

Sam stroked his chin. "You're right." He said pensively, but did not add anything more.

"I'm the big brother. Of course I'm right." Dean began to rummage through their meager supply of food. "Do we have any beer left?"

"We used it on your birthday to clean puke off the backseat of the Impala." Sam replied, a little abashed. "Don't you remember?"

"I do now. Hell of a 'Happy Birthday'. Next time put a little more thought into where you're aiming before you chuck." Dean opened his wallet. "I think I better do another food run."

Sam perked up at that. "Great. You can do the laundry stop too, if you're going that way."

"Screw that. I ain't touching your undies, Tiny." He jammed the wallet back into his jeans. "You need anything? Some therapeutic shampoo or scented soap or whatever?"

"Ha. Aren't you a riot?" Sam lent back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Nah, I'm good. You know me, high on life and loving it."

"Whoa, dude, you're messing up our roles. I'm the lovable and rascally one, you're the angsty, whiny one."

Sam grinned. "Whatever you say, Big Brother." He said innocently.

Leaving the room key with Sammy, Dean went outside. The uncharacteristically sunny day hit him in the face and he squinted across the road at the Impala, the chrome glinting in the light, and wondered whether it would be worth investing in a hat.

Once inside the car, he wound the windows down. The backseat still smelled like stale vomit, and Dean grimaced. _Winchester Lesson Learned, Number 102008.3: Never Go Into A Disemboweling Fiend's Lair Right After A Big Lunch._

"Dammit, Sammy. It's a good thing I like ya or I wouldn't keep you around," He put the car into gear and pulled out into the street. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the Winnebago in front of him slowed to miss someone crossing the street, a lady and her poodle that looked like they must have gone to the same hairdresser.

_Poor boy. Imagine all the other dogs pointing and laughing 'cause of his girly haircut._

Then the thought made him think of the way Sam's hair always dropped into his eyes like an Old English sheepdog, and he grinned.

_Don't mess with The Sam._

The town centre should have only been fifteen minutes away, but at the rate the traffic was moving, he probably could have got out and walked faster. A couple of times he honked the horn, only to earn himself a disapproving glare from an elderly gentleman who looked shockingly similar to Dean's year six math teacher.

Maybe it was just in the eyebrows, which looked like a couple of kittens had been glued to the front of his face and seemed to move of their own accord.

What Dean hated about public parking and public parking lots was that the allotted spaces for each vehicle seemed to shrink more and more with each passing year. The Impala now comfortably sat across two parking spaces, which meant that he also had to feed two meters. If he'd had to leave the car for a long period of time, he wouldn't have even bothered with the meters. He would have parked it on the curb or in the driveway of a vacant house.

While walking, he looked at the list he and Sam had drawn up the previous day after getting back from the house of Del, the Witch Woman. It was all pretty self-explanatory stuff.

_Salt. Iron knives (Housewares). Ammo – various (Munitions store down the road). Bandages. Scalpel & extra blades. Sutures. Stitches. Needles. Aspirin. Ham._

Shaking his head, he was about to enter Wal-Mart when something caught his eye and he stepped back to check it out.

On the side of the building near the entrance were several posters, and Dean sucked in a breath as he read what it said.

_Help!_

_Have you seen these children?_

_Mary Morgan, 11. _

_Ben Braeden, 15._

Dean just stood staring at the posters for a minute before stuffing the shopping list into his jacket and pulling out his cell, punching in Sam's number.

On the third ring, his brother answered. _"What?"_

"Code purple." Dean said.

"_What?" _He sounded confused. _"You mean the one with the donkey-?"_

"_Purple_, Sammy. _Purple_." Dean reached forward to touch one of the posters. "Missing kids in our vicinity."

"_You're kidding."_

"Nope. Vanished at a summer camp north from here. Camp Quentin."

_"Dean, that's near Del's place"_

"I thought so." He said grimly, not surprised in the least. "Look, I'm gonna swing round the camp then head up to Del's. Meet me there."

"_Sure." _Sam said, and the brothers hung up. Dean ripped the poster with its current photos from the wall. Starting the Impala, he roared back through the way he had came.

* * *

It was a nice day for a walk. Sam packed his bag and left The Lodge, locking the door securely behind himself. In ten minutes he was crunching up Del's front path. "Del?" He knocked on the front door. "It's Sam Winchester again. Are you in?"

"Sam, honey, come in."

Del was sitting on a couch in the lounge, watching reruns of MASH while catching up on her knitting. "Cookie?"

"Thanks." They were chocolate chip, moist and warm. Direct from the oven. Sam ate one in two bites and helped himself to another. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Something else?"

"Something else." Sam confirmed. "Two kids disappeared in this area recently. You haven't seen anything, have you?"

"Can't say I have, darl. Sit down. It's cricking my neck having to stare up at you."

"Sorry." Sam sat in one of her blanket-covered lounge chairs. He watched Klinger mince across the television screen for a moment before turning back to her. "Can you tell me anything else about these Unseelie? About the fairies?"

"There's not much to tell." She set aside her knitting. It was tangled and torn as if she had forgotten how and was trying to remember. For a moment Sam thought that was slightly odd. "They are not tiny women wearing leaves and waving their wands. They're not short, grumpy men with fishing poles and pointed hats."

"What are they, then?"

"They are above us and below us. The fairies, as you call them, were the last of the angelic host, but because of their playful nature, they missed the closing of the Gates of Heaven, and fell to the Earth. Forgotten by the Host, unable to live among the humans, and not wicked enough to enter Hell, they were condemned to walk the spaces between the worlds forever. As you'd expect, that made them a tad bitter."

Del lent forward. "Bitter enough, Sam, that they agreed to make deals with the other inhabitants of the dark places. And there's nothing we can do about it." She sounded almost delighted about it. Sam frowned. "There's nothing that you or your brother or any of those other fools out there can do."

"Why's that?"

"The old ways are lost." Del's mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. "No magic, no weapons, no one left to fight. No hope." She shrugged.

"That can't be right."

"You know it is. You know it inside yourself."

Sam stood and raked his fingers through his hair. He stared out the window, expecting Dean to climb over the front gate any moment now. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he noticed something glinting in the sunlight on the windowsill. Operating on autopilot, he picked it up.

"Do you like it? It's an M7 Bayonet, used to be standard issue in the Marines."

"This can't be yours."

"Oh, it is."

This time it wasn't Del that spoke, and Sam spun around. The older woman was gone, and in her place stood a tall man dressed in a dark suit, his greying hair swept back from his temples. The face was familiar, though Sam was certain he had never seen the man before. He smiled at Sam, his eyes flicking pearly white before settling back into a greenish colour.

In that moment Sam realised he'd been duped. "Where's Del?" He demanded.

"Kitchen. I wouldn't go in there, though. It's a little bit messy." He said. "I'll have my knife back now, thanks." Even though there was nothing more Sam would have liked to do than slash the demon across the throat, he knew he would not win this battle. Reluctantly be handed over the bayonet. "It's nice, isn't it?" The demon touched the blade.

"Not bad. Who did you take it from?" Sam asked sourly.

"I took it from an adversary." He cocked his head to the side. "Or I always owned it. You decide." He held the knife sideways, and Sam could see that there was a name etched into the blade. As he read it, Sam felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and he felt sick.

_Drew Winchester._

The demon spread his arms wide.

"Come and give Uncle a hug."


	4. Fairy Ring

**AN-The story concerning Ben Braeden and Mary Morgan was covered in another of my fics, _Christmas_, and they're back again for this one, because everyone liked Ben, and Mary was my most popular female character in the Supernatural fandom and was asked for an encore.**

* * *

'I know it's a hard thing for you to do, but try not to piss anyone off. At least until we know what we're up against.' – WA Harvelle.

Squeezed into her too-tight instructor's uniform, she was cute and perky and blonde, someone Dean may have made a pass at in another life. But for some reason, the idea of dazzling her with his charm didn't appeal to him as much as it used to.

Her nametag read _Cindy._

The absence of the two kids had shaken her up, that much was for sure. She looked all perked out. "After the disappearance was reported through the official channels, we sent the rest of the children home. We set up our own search party to cover the ground while we were waiting for support. There was no way we were going to let one of our kids vanish again."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"At first the management chalked it up to runaways. You know, go into town, make a bit of a mess, and come back to camp before we'll 'notice'." She said, arching her eyebrow. "We notice." Dean tried not to smile. He and Sam had done the exact same thing as kids.

"They never came back for lights out."

"One day? Maybe they just missed the bus."

She shook her head. "The parents had posters made up and distributed around town. These children had pretty much spotless records, except for them both being wiseasses. They gave Mr Prichard a lot of lip in particular."

"Really? Why was that?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there at the time. My craft group told me that Mr Prichard had said something against Mary's family."

"Her adopted family?"

Cindy shook her head. "My group assured me that he insulted her biological family, which is unusual because her mother was certain that they were all dead. Not that she was willing to give much more away; she seemed almost frightened to talk about any issues Mary may have had with her real family. I can't pass judgement on what Prichard may have said or done, though, because of staff solidarity and all that crap, but whatever he said brought the wrath of both those kids down on his head."

They stopped walking and Cindy looked up at him. "Do you think I would be able to talk to Mr Prichard?" Dean asked.

Cindy cocked her head to the side. "What exactly did you say your relationship to the Braeden family was again?"

"Uncle." Dean said, pulling out his license. The pretty instructor glanced at it and then nodded.

"Just fact-checking." She said. "Mr Prichard has his office in that end cabin there. I'll ring him to let him know you're coming."

Dean nodded, and Cindy pulled out her phone. "Wait a minute." He said suddenly. The pretty instructor looked at him curiously. "You said before that you sent search parties out because you weren't going to let your kids vanish _again_. Has this happened before?"

Cindy looked almost ashamed then. "I see you aren't a local."

"Flew in the other day, actually."

"You don't know then."

"Know what?"

The woman grabbed his arm and pulled him off the main path. "You never heard this from me," She said seriously. Dean made a zipping motion across his lips. "We almost closed last year because of student disappearances."

"_What?"_

"Almost every year since before I was born, a child disappears. Just vanishes, and is never seen again. We don't even find their _bones. _Sometimes it isn't students. Sometimes it's tourist's children that go out into the wood too far. But it's never – it's never the children of the long-time locals. I don't know why. I used to play in that wood and I was_ fine_."

"You're a local?"

She nodded. "Fifth generation."

"Cindy," Dean began. "Did you ever see anything strange in the wood? When you take your campers out there? Or even when you were a kid?"

She looked confused. "It looked like a forest. The way a forest is supposed to look." She frowned. "I don't remember ever seeing anyone there beside us. And the Ring, of course."

"The ring? What's the Ring?"

"In the centre of the wood there's a small clearing." Cindy said. "My mom used to say the fairies had their tea-parties there. I'm not sure whether it's still there, but there was this big ring of toadstools, and it was said you could hear singing if you got close enough. She used to call it the Fairy Ring." She shook her head. "Look at me. Two kids missing and here I am boring you with childhood recollections."

"Don't worry about it." Dean said. "Sometimes childhood recollections can be important. Look, if you can remember anything else, can you call me?"

"You can count on it." She said flirtatiously.

Feeling a little awkward, Dean cleared his throat. "I better go see Mr Prichard, then."

Leaving the buxom instructor behind, he knocked on the door of the end cabin.

"Come in."

Mr Prichard was easily as tall as Sammy, if not taller, with blonde hair, a long nose, and slightly feral features. He was perhaps five years younger than Dean was. Dean swallowed an exclamation. He had been expecting a balding, middle-aged guy with a paunch, not Super-Camper. "Hi. I'm John Braeden." He introduced himself.

"Ralph Prichard." The man reached across his desk to shake Dean's proffered hand. "Cindy said you were on your way up. No doubt you want to hear about the search for the children."

"If you don't mind." Dean said. Maybe it was because he was on edge about Mary and Ben, but looking at this strange dude made his spider-sense tingle.

Ralph Prichard came out from behind his desk and quite visibly gave Dean the once-over. Dean bristled. Once upon a time, he and his school friends Charlie and Matt beat up on guys that wore their uniforms too tight. It almost looked like the guy had been dressing out of Cindy's wardrobe.

Maybe he was.

"Perhaps we can walk and talk." Prichard invited, once again hustling him out the door. For some reason, none of the instructors wanted him inside for more than a minute or two. Before he had spoken to Cindy, Dean had discreetly stop to check whether he had bad breath or a particularly funky body odour. Nada on both accounts, so what the heck was going on?

"Sure." Dean said, though he'd rather not go anywhere with the guy. There was something funny about him, something creeping just below the surface. Dean squinted at his back and for a moment he caught a glimpse of-

"Are you coming?"

"Spaced out for a minute there, sorry. It's been a hellava few days."

Prichard's face was expressionless. "I can guess." He said. "It's not an easy thing, loosing a child."

They were on the path heading into the heart of the woods, now. Dean forced himself to smile. It probably looked like he was about to bite someone. "I don't intend to loose either one of them," He said stiffly. "I'm going to find them."

"Mr Braeden, I know how hard it is to say goodbye to family. But sometimes we have to let them go." He said this so casually that Dean's frown deepened and he jammed his fists into his jacket pockets to keep the relaxed façade.

"Family doesn't end in blood." Dean said, echoing what Bobby Singer had told him and Sam a long time ago now.

"Sometimes it's inevitable." Prichard disagreed. "Sometimes blood will be the only thing left behind."

The sunlight was spearing through the leaves and casting light on everything. Dean could see the police tape and the tyre tracks of where they must have just ploughed in. And there, behind the police barricade…

Was a ring of toadstools.

_Oh, you gotta be kidding me._

"It's fascinating, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"The ignorance of the species. They have the answer to their questions right in front of them, but they don't see it." Ralph laughed.

Dean turned, and realised why he had been so certain that Prichard had been wearing another face. Because now he could see through that disguise, whether because Prichard was hardly wearing it or he could somehow still see demons, Dean wasn't about to stop and ask questions. He stepped back.

"You're one of them." He said.

"And you're one of _them_." Prichard replied. "I sniffed you out the moment you stepped onto our land."

"Likewise." Dean said. "Y'see, I'm pretty good at seeing through disguises."

Prichard smiled. His features grew even more feral, but not any less good-looking, which Dean didn't think was very fair. "Apparently not until you walk into a trap." He said, and lunged. Quicker than the creature expected, Dean flipped him to the side and reached under his jacket. Prichard began to run for him again when Dean brandished the length of metal before him like a sword. The Unseelie couldn't stop in time and Dean tackled it, pinning it to the ground, holding the iron rod to its throat.

"Fairies 101, iron repels." He grinned.

"Oh, good. At least you were paying attention to your little brother." The fairy sneered. Dean looked down on the creature, and decided he really didn't like the word 'fairy'.

"You know who I am."

"Of course."

"Get up." He barked, prodding the Unseelie with the rod, which left nasty-looking burns wherever it touched. Slowly it did, and Dean began to wonder whether that was a good idea. Without its human disguise, it was easily a foot taller than Sammy, and Sam wasn't exactly short. Dean swallowed and gripped the rod tighter.

"They'll notice I've left the camp." Prichard said. "They'll know I'm missing and come after me."

"Who's that, exactly?"

"The others."

Realisation dawned. "That's why nobody spoke to me for long." He mused.

"Maybe you're just a boring conversationalist." The Unseelie said dryly.

Dean jabbed him with the rod. "How many are back there?"

"Four or five. Two in management. About half the staff. What do you think you're going to do?"

"_You're _going to help me do something."

"If you really want the children back, you're too late."

"Why did you take them?" Dean scowled, holding the rod before him with both hands. "Was it just because they pissed you off?"

"They didn't belong here." The Unseelie hissed. "The girl is trouble waiting to take root and the boy got in the way."

"You said is."

"What?"

"You said 'is', not 'was'. That means they're still alive." Dean said. "Why are you doing this?"

The Unseelie took a step forward and Dean raised the rod. "Do you know what it's like to live in the world, yet not be part of it?"

"I have an inkling."

The Unseelie smiled. "Perhaps you do. But I doubt you know what it feels like to be trapped between the worlds, suspended in non-existence, a creature of fable. I'm a fairy, Dean, Winchester. How do you like us now?"

Heedless of the iron that burned a red trail across his skin, the Unseelie twisted around and grabbed Dean's arms, the grip unerringly strong. The iron was dropped and vanished from sight. The creature pushed him backwards; deft hands now at his throat, and Dean lost his footing.

Police tape snapped, and he expected a painful impact with the ground at any moment. However, he felt himself keep falling.

Through the looking glass.

Through the circle of toadstools.

_Oh no, not again…_


	5. The Soul

_Fairy rings occupy a prominent place in European folklore as the location of gateways into elven kingdoms, or places where elves gather and dance. _

_A great deal of folklore surrounds fairy rings. Their names in European languages often allude to supernatural origins; they are known as __**ronds de sorciers**__ ("sorcerers' rings") in France, and __**hexenringe**__ ("witches' rings") in Germany. European superstitions routinely warned against entering a fairy ring. _

_British folklorist Thomas Keightley noted that in Scandinavia in the early 20th century, beliefs persisted that fairy cirlces (elfdans) arose from the dancing of elves. Keightley warned that while entering an elfdans might allow the interloper to see the elves—although this was not guaranteed—it would also put the intruder in thrall to their illusions. _

_Celtic folk beliefs generally paint fairy rings as dangerous places, best avoided. Superstition calls fairy circles sacred and warns against violating them lest the interloper anger the fairies and be cursed. _

_Numerous legends focus on mortals entering a fairy ring—and the consequences. One superstition is that anyone who steps into an empty fairy ring will die at a young age.__A 20th century tradition from Somerset calls the fairy ring a "galley-trap" and says that a murderer or thief who walks in the ring will be hanged. Most often, someone who violates a fairy perimeter becomes invisible to mortals outside and may find it impossible to leave the circle. _

_Mortals who have entered a fairy ring are rarely safe after being saved from their enthrallment. Often, they find that what seemed to be but a brief foray into fairyland was indeed much longer in the mortal realm, possibly weeks or years. The person rescued from the fairy ring may have no memory of their encounter with the sprites. In most tales, the saved interlopers face a grim fate. For example, in one legend, a man is rescued from a fairy ring only to crumble to dust._

Sam just looked at the demon, aghast. Even though he tried not to, he could suddenly _see _things, falling into place, like a particulary bitchy puzzle.

"Come on, Sam. Don't you remember me?"

"…_and there." Two little red handprints appeared on the page. Big Brother Dean's grin was manic even back then, but all Baby Sam knew was that he looked funny with his hair and face splashed with brightly coloured fingerpaint. The smock that Happy Mommy had forced the screaming toddler into was still spotless._

_Baby Sam giggled. Big Brother Dean looked up from his painting and poked his tongue out. Baby Sam blew a __raspberry at him__, and Big Brother Dean sucked in his cheeks and looked at him cross-eyed._

_Baby Sam giggled again._

"_Aren't you two hilarious? The wind might change and you'll be stuck that way." The sound wasn't as deep as Tired Daddy, and the person holding Big Brother Dean on his knee smiled at Baby Sam sitting across the table in his highchair. Funny Man had a smear of bright green paint across his face from where Big Brother Dean had grabbed his nose in return for being tickled. "What do you say, Deano? Do we let Sammy have a go?" Funny Man asked._

"_Me!" Baby Sam shrieked, holding out his chubby arms._

"_Mine." The toddler snatched back his pots of paint. "Mine, Sammy!" He said fiercely._

_Baby Sam's eyes grew teary and his bottom lip quivered. "Now look." Funny Man said to Big Brother Dean. His voice was a soft reproach. "We have to learn to share."_

"_Don't wanna." The little boy grumbled, determinedly not looking at him. _

"_Don't you want to be friends? He's not going to stay little forever. Sam might grow up to be big and strong one day."_

"_Always be Little Brother." Dean said firmly, and handed over the yellow paint._

The prominent chin, so much like his own…

_No_.

The hollow-cheeked face, so much like Dad's…

_No._

The greenish eyes, so much like Dean's…

_No. NO!_

"We were… we were looking for you." Sam said dumbly.

"Well, now you've found me." The demon replied.

"I was talking to my... to my uncle." He snapped back angrily. "Not the parasite that's hitched a ride in his skin." He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to think clearly, to rationalise the situation.

"Why so testy, Sam? It's not like you ever _knew_ the man." The creature said, his lip curling.

The words cut more because they were true. _I don't think I ever really knew any of my family…_ "What do you want? Who are you?"

"I am the Great Lord Belial, one of the Princes of Hell." The demon said. "I had walked the Earth for thousands of years and had the devotion of millions. Until this Jesus character came into the mix and messed it all up."

"You're a prince?"

"Well, that's more of a ceremonious title now." Belial shrugged. "What with the War, and everyone grappling for a slice of power, no matter how small, names don't matter that much anymore."

Sam felt cold. "The war…" He trailed off.

"A rebellion might be closer to the mark. Though I don't think anyone really knows what they're rebelling against." The demon's smile was hard. It almost like he was getting high off the very notion of world-class havoc. You could see it on his face… his borrowed face. "Viva la Revolution, Sammy. And we're all heading for the big one." He peered at the human through half-lidded eyes. "But you already knew that, didn't you? It's in your dreams. You see Hell every time you close your eyes, like your brother does."

Only now had the merest thought of his brother entered Sam's head. Jerking his head back, he stared back toward the front gate, expecting Dean to come crunching up the path any minute now, even though he knew. He knew that if the demon didn't want to be disturbed, they wouldn't.

_Dean, where are you?_

"You know I studied you. Me and my dad. We researched every single one of you." Sam said, still looking out the window.

"When your psychotic family were looking for someone who matched the MO of sweet little Mary Winchester's killer. I know." Belial put his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "But you should know. There is no way in Heaven or Hell you could have researched us all. I've been watching you guys for a while now."

"Really. Why's that?"

"You fascinate me, Sammy. You and Dean and John. The three of you are just so damn intriguing."

Sam frowned as the demon's turn of phrase about his dad. Surely he knew John Winchester was dead? _Right? _"What, are we like, lab rats in a maze to you lot or something?"

"Not far off." Belial said. "But if I had rats like you, I'd probably put you all out of your misery." He stared off out the window as well. "You know," He said. "When I was told about you, Azazel's inane plot with all the human kiddies, I thought, well, there goes old Az blowing his own horn again. What's the worse that could happen, right?"

Despite himself, Sam almost smiled. Dammit!

"And now here we stand." He continued. "You're a real prick, Sam."

Sam blinked.

"So good and yet so _bad_. I swear, I could smell the potential. I think a lot of us did, and that made things a bit of a mess. But the genius came when an old friend of mine made a suggestion to me so I had a bit of a leg up on everyone else. She said to me, '_think like a Winchester', _and here I am."

He smiled, delighted with his own cleverness. "I think you must have been around seven or eight at the time. Still a kid yet to be introduced into the bastard job that was Winchester & Sons."

"You've been in him for twenty-two years…" Sam said slowly, putting the math together.

"Mm-hmm. He," Belial touched his chest, referring to the man trapped within himself. "Tried to find you, you know. Thought old Johnny was right outta his tree, and was gonna bring you boys home, get his little brother some help. Still, with three kids and a pretty wife of his own, he could only do so much." Sam could feel the demon's eyes practically searing into his skin. "It was interesting in the first few years, then he sort of lost the will to live. Unfortunately he can't kill himself unless I will it, which makes it a bit of a pain. Still," He lent forward.

"I think he just might have died when Johnny went the way of the damned." Belial nodded his head matter-of-factly. "I didn't feel much. It was like one day he just… faded away. He's worse than dead, Sam. He's dead inside. You think you can bring him back?"

Once again Sam thought of his own brother. Any hope he might have had for saving the human inside was being purposefully crushed. It hurt, more than it should have. "You son of a _bitch_."

"Hey. It's been said." The demon shrugged nonchalantly. "Watcha gonna do about it? Kill me? Take your best shot, sport." He gave the Winchester grin then, slow and dangerous and a little twisted. "C'mon, let's see what you've got."

Sam didn't move. Belial's grin grew wider. "You wont, and you know it. You want to know how I know that you know that you wont? Because killing me would mean spilling your own blood, and you can't quite manage to do that. That family connection is the only thing you have left, and once that's gone, you're on the same level as the rest of us. As me."

"I'll never be like you!"

"You know, that's what your brother said to me when he was in Hell. Before Lilith got her claws into him." Suddenly all the sinister humour dropped from his face and he stood there before Sam, cold, hard, and immortal. He was the demon.

"I want back what he stole from me." He said.

"Who?"

"_Dean_."

_This is about DEAN? _Sam frowned, and he tried not to show too much of his confusion.

"He can give it back or I can _take _it back. Whatever he prefers." The sentence was practically one long sneer.

"What did Dean… what did my brother steal from you?" Sam asked tentatively.

Belial's expression seemed to get even frostier.

"A soul." He said.


	6. Little Boys

_Those demons out there, they're not like the small-time operator that did in your Mary. John, these guys play for keeps. – WA Harvelle._

In the end he stopped screaming.

It was dark, and the blood that filled his mouth ran down the side of his face and dropped off. He would watch the red tear until it splattered against one of the unbreakable chains or it just kept falling, down, down, down…

_Two little boys had two little toys  
Each had a wooden horse  
Gaily they played, each summer's day  
Warriors, both of course._

Of all the stupid things to keep going over and over for all eternity, why a dumb little song Mom used to sing before bed? _He didn't want to remember her! She_ had done this; _she_ was the one that hid the secrets that hurt the worst. _She _was the one that killed Dad inside, leaving behind her two little boys and a legacy of hardship and pain.

This was all _her_ fault!

_One little chap then had a mishap  
Broke off his horse's head  
Wept for his toy then cried with joy  
As his young playmate said-_

Let me go mad. Please, just let me go mad.

Maybe I already am.

_Did you think I would leave you crying  
When there's room on my horse for two  
Climb up here and don't be crying  
I can go just as fast with two…_

He didn't know how long he was there, suspended in some sort of hellish limbo, where the only visitors he had were old acquaintances looking for a piece of the Dean Winchester. It seemed like forever, but could have been only the blink of an eye. So he didn't know exactly when it happened, but it did happen.

He was let down.

_When we grow up we'll both be soldiers,  
And our horses will not be toys  
And I wonder if we'll remember  
When we were two little boys._

He was forced to bow before her, She who would be Queen. Joints aching and his own blood pooling out on the floor, he sank to his knees before her.

Lilith.

"My son."

Her words caused some consternation among the demons gathered around her, and Lilith seemed to gain satisfaction from the disquiet her words caused. She smiled, and her smile was so hideous and dangerous and beautiful that he could not bear to look, so he hung his head and stared at the ground.

"Look at me." And then her fingers were under his chin, forcing him to look up, to stare with shocked disgust into the demon queen's face that was beautiful woman, ancient hag, and demon all at once. He had glimpsed her true face once, long ago, but nothing could have prepared him for really seeing her, stripped of any illusions.

Lilith smiled. "You like what you see?"

"Honestly, a facial probably wouldn't hurt." His voice was hardly a whisper, a crack of static in the storm, and she released his chin.

Lilith clapped her hands together like a child, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, he isn't broken yet!" She exclaimed with glee, making him sound like a toy that was somehow still working after all the abuse it had been subjected to. "I would have been very angry if he had been broken." She said this threateningly, to someone over his head. He tried to turn his head, to see who, what, was standing behind him, but his muscles would not obey him after so long, after just… hanging… there.

"What… do you want?"

"Honey, all I want is one small bit of knowledge. Hidden away somewhere deep in your brain." She stroked a lock of hair from his eyes and he instinctively jerked back.

"What?" He almost choked on the word, and stared up at her, horrified. Suddenly he was acutely aware of everything around him, the demons staring, some gnashing their teeth. He could almost hear their disapproval.

"You have something I want." Lilith said patiently, the childish edge dropping from her voice. Her face was hard and cold. "And I have something you want."

The contract.

"And if you give to me what it is that I want, then maybe, just maybe, I can help you out. Sort of a you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours deal."

He immediately baulked at the word 'deal', as Lilith was well aware he would.

"I wont make another deal." Dean declared flatly.

"Then watch your world die." She snapped, spinning on her heel. "String him back up. Make him scream."

"No. NO!" He scrambled forward on his hands and knees. The tear in his stomach ripped wider apart and a fresh flow of blood washed over the ground. He didn't feel it. "No, please-" He reached forward and grasped at her robe, out of breath. "No more. Please." He gasped.

_Dad would be ashamed of you._

She knelt down, carefully detached herself from him, and gently wiped tears from his face. He hadn't even known he had begun to cry. "How many chances must a man have before he makes the right decision?" She said this gently, almost apologetic. And then her manner changed once more. "You have brought this upon yourself."

"NOOO!" He began to scream and struggle as Lilith walked away and the others came to take him, to take him back. He threw profanity after profanity at Lilith's back, and begged his captors, begged them to let him go, begged them to let him be the one that they showed mercy to.

He would get her. He would.

He would get all of them.

_They laughed at him as Hell opened up to swallow him once more –_

"Ah!"

Dean shot straight up. There was a sheen of sweat across his forehead and there were blades of grass in his hair, evident that he had rolled about a bit during his nightmare.

Only it wasn't a nightmare.

He lent forward, his head in his hands. He remembered, so well, cursing the names of his parents, of Sammy. He had blamed them, when he knew full well that it was none of their doing.

_They trained me to hate my own family._ The very notion was sickening. What had Lilith wanted to do? What had she wanted to make_ me_ do?

Dean heard crunching footsteps on the leaves and he jumped up, crouching on his haunches and waiting to pounce. The leaves were swept aside, and there, dressed in jeans and boots and a powder-blue shirt that read Camp Quentin was…

"Ben." Dean raised his eyebrows. Wow, that was easy.

The kid just stood there and stared at him for a while before he made a move. "Oh God." He finally said. "Damn, it is you. Holy cow." There was another uncomfortable pause as Ben cocked his head to the side. "You look like crap."

Maybe it was Ben's reaction, maybe it was the whole situation, maybe it was the very notion of being beat up on by fairies, but Dean took one look at the kid's solemn face and stared to laugh. Laugh like he couldn't stop.

"Dude, that is so not cool!" Ben complained. "Are you off your meds or something?"

Wiping a tear from his eye, Dean rose to his feet. "Don't mind me. I think I've just begun to realise something."

"What?" Ben asked cautiously.

"I might have some issues to work through." He shook his head and looked at the teenager closer. Ben looked relieved and yet somehow more terrified then ever. "Hey, are you alright?"

"No." The kid said. He suddenly sat down where he was standing, and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was shivering and Dean knelt down beside him. Awkwardly he reached out an arm around Ben's shoulders.

"Hey, it'll be cool. You'll see." He said gruffly. "We'll work it out."

"No it won't." Ben's eyes were red but dry. "Because we can't get out. This forest just goes on and on and on. There's nothing here, nothing. And now I know it's really bad, 'cause otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Dean blinked. "You have a point." He remembered the little girl then. "Ben, where's Mary? Mary Morgan?"

The teenager looked directly at him then. "They took her. Those things, they took her away."

Dean frowned.

_Long years had passed, war came so fast  
Bravely they marched away  
Cannon roared loud, and in the mad crowd  
Wounded and dying lay…_

"This is a trap, isn't it?"

"Boy, if this really had been a trap, don't you think I would have let your brother spring it by now?"

"Demons lie," Sam spat, putting all the vehemence he could muster in those two words. That was a painful lesson that he had learnt time and time again.

The other man's face twisted into a parody of a grin. "It depends on what's more painful. The lie… Or the truth. Tell you what, as a show of my good intentions, I'll let you live this time, even if you aren't on my side yet." He smiled.

_Yet._ Sam hated the word _yet._

"But if we meet again and I'm not on your side, you'll kill me, right?"

"You gotta do what you gotta do." He shrugged. "Catch you 'round, Sam. If you're ever in a tight jam, having a problem that needs to be fixed up, give a shout for Uncle Drew."

Sam's jaw clenched. "What?"

"That's what family does for each other, right? Besides, you and I both want the same thing."

"Really. And what's that?"

"Lilith out of the way."

"Why do you think Lilith means anything to me?"

"Because," The demon looked back at him. Slowly he grinned. "Contracts don't just vanish." He slapped Sam on the shoulder as he walked past. "Good luck, old son. May the best man win."

"You got it." Sam replied. "Drew."

Back to him, Belial perked up a little, listening to what he was about to say.

"Drew, I know you don't know me and I don't know you," Sam said lowly. "But you're family. And I promise I'll try to get you out of this. We'll come back for you."

For a moment he thought he had broken through something as the demon's next footfall quavered. But then the demon turned his milky eyes on him, smiled sardonically and walked out the door. In three strides Sam was at the front porch, but the demon was already gone.

"We will try to get you out of this," He whispered. "No one deserves that."

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

Sam almost jumped out of his skin. Standing behind him was the wise woman, Del.

"You're alive!"

"I was the last time I checked." Del raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright?"

Sam stared out the open door.

Del's death had been one long lie to try and get him to react. Sam didn't know what was worse, the fiction the demon had created, or the truth.

Belial had stopped time to give him the opportunity to chat with Sam, and no one would ever have known. No one on Earth, and no one in Hell knew what he had just done.

"Who are you?" Sam muttered. "What are you trying to do?"

"Sam." Del's voice was firm. Her whole body was stiff as she sniffed the air. "Something's wrong. There's danger coming."

"How do you know?"

"I used to give small readings for people, basically reading auras." She stopped, as if she was half expecting him to start laughing.

"Who's in trouble?" Sam asked.

Del tensed up once more, and then her shoulders relaxed. She shrugged. "I'm sorry, lad. All I can tell is that someone is in trouble. It could be anyone that's ever been connected with you."

He stared at her. "Sorry, gotta go." As Sam attempted to brush by the old woman, Del made a grab at his hand as he passed to try and stop him for a minute. Then with a little gasp, she let him go and stepped back, trying to put as much distance between him and her within the little room as she possibly could.

Sam didn't miss her reaction. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the wise woman was staring horrified at his palm. Much like Dean had done before, he jerked his hands out of sight. "Del?" He asked carefully. The old woman had one hand clutched over her heart, and he prayed that she wasn't about to have a heart attack. "Are you okay?"

"Get out of my house, you demon." The woman snarled, her lips curling back from her teeth. "Get out now."

"What? I'm not a-" Sam began.

"What you are now doesn't make any difference." Del said harshly. "Only what you will be. You're already changing."

"Del-"

"Out!" The wise woman roared. Quicker than he expected, Del snatched up an iron poker from the small fireplace and brandished it before her. "Out!"

"I'm going, I'm going," Sam snarled, backing out the door. Once the front door slammed behind him, he took one more look at the small cottage before turning and sprinting back to the hire car. Steering back out of Del's place, he put his foot down and headed toward Camp Quentin and Dean.

During the ride, he could have sworn that his hands were starting to itch. Scowling, he gripped the steering wheel harder, all the while thinking, wondering, agonising over what Del had seen in his palm that caused her to flip out.

It wasn't nice.

_I'm changing. Changing into what?_

_She called me a demon._


	7. The Problem

**AN: Rachel's spell and ceremony has been largely improvised (by me). Additionally, she's probably not a Pagan or a Wiccan either, but someone who dabbles in a lot of different beliefs and mysticisms and utilises them as she needs to. Just sayin' you know, in case I offend someone who happens to be a follower of these beliefs.**

_And whatever's coming, it's not just us and demons that are going to be doing the fighting._

_There's not going to be just the two sides. - WA Harvelle._

Ben Braeden watched as Dean snapped a stout branch from one of the strange-looking trees, heft it twice, and then begin to flatten a path through the undergrowth. He cocked his head to one side, thinking. Perhaps it was owing to the years between the time they last saw each other, but to him the man appeared thinner than he remembered. Rangier. The face was more lined and seemed fiercer.

"She waited, you know."

The makeshift club in Dean's hands wavered in the air for a moment, before he brought it down in a particularly vicious manner. The man didn't reply.

"She was _so _sure that you were going to come back, but you never did." Ben continued on grimly. "Why didn't you come back? I thought you might have lo-"

"Sometimes life… gets complicated. What you want to do and what you need to do aren't always on the same page." Dean said. His voice was dry and brittle. "Even if I had stayed… I couldn't have given her, or you, what you deserved. It wasn't fair on any of us." Oh, how many times he had rolled that very scenario around in his head?

What would have happened if I stayed?

_I'd still be dead, that's what._

Ben bowed his head. "Mom got married last week." He said in a small voice. He wasn't setting out to make Dean feel lousy, but he deserved to know.

"That's… nice."

"He's a good guy. He gets me neat stuff and treats Mom really well."

"She deserves it." The smile on his face seemed a little forced, and Ben had to wonder what it took to be the bigger man.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you _need _to do it? Can't anyone else do what you do?"

"Maybe. There are others who probably… I guess I just don't trust anyone else not to screw up. It's just a job like any other." Dean replied.

The teenager smirked. "They have a thing like that in our world too. Obsessive-compulsive workaholics."

"Hey, that's cute. I didn't think I guy with a bunny on his shirt would be such a wiseass."

"It's not my choice to be wearing this. It's the Camp's insignia." Judging by the way Ben's face darkened, Dean guessed that he had already been given enough grief about his shirt. "Dean?"

"Mm?"

"What happens when we find the people that took Mary? How do we get home?"

Dean rested the length of wood on his shoulder and stroked his chin. "Do you have any iron on you? A medallion or a poker or something?"

"Oh man, I guess I left them in my other pants." Ben pulled a face. "They don't exactly offer Steelworking and Fabrications as a craft selection over the summer."

"Ah, Benny, you've got to learn how to make your own fun."

"Don't call me Benny." Dean grinned and once again proceeded to thump his way through the wood. "Dean?"

"_Yes?_"

"Where are we?"

"I don't think we've left." Dean huffed. "We're still in the wood just off Camp Quentin."

"How does that work?"

"I dunno, maybe whatever is keeping us here has manipulated our minds into believing that there's no way out. Maybe it's some sort of incredibly realistic mirage. Or maybe…"

"What?"

"Magic?" He raised an eyebrow, looking doubtful.

"Fairy magic. Great." Ben sounded suitably unimpressed, and right then he really reminded Dean of what he was like at fifteen. He paused. "They're fairies, right? Tinkerbell and the rest?"

"Not quite." Dean admitted. "They're sort of these… superhuman creatures that – that aren't quite demons or angels. They're sort of stuck. Between the dimensions or something."

"That sucks."

"And I _bet_ that's just what they said too."

"But why? I don't get it."

"Ben, this is just one more entry on the long list of things I don't get." Dean threw the stick aside, and pushed aside some creepers with his hands.

"Do you have any idea about where you're going?"

"Yes. Yes I do, as a matter of fact. I'm taking you back to that fairy circle thing."

"I'm not going anywhere without my cousin." The teenager said resolutely, and Dean rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Ben-"

"Don't 'Ben' me. You're not my dad." Ben snapped. "Mary wouldn't be in this mess if she didn't follow me. I promised Mom I'd look after her while they were away."

_I promised._

"What do we do now?"

"Well, if we go up there we should be able to see where we are." Dean reasoned. Ben didn't look reassured, but followed him up the hill anyway. Finally, at what Dean took to be the summit, he reached forward and pushed a low hanging branch out of his eyes. "And we're here."

Camp Quentin sprung into view.

"Holy crap!" Ben gasped. "We're across the other side of the Camp!" He stared back at Dean. "Was that supposed to have happened?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, come on, then!" Ben shouted, already beginning to stumble down to civilisation. "We can get some help and then go back for Mary!"

Dean followed behind slightly slower. He pulled out his phone. _Five missed calls from: Sam._ Something weird was going on. It was like they had just walked in a big circle before coming out the other side.

"Ben!"

The boy slowed down so Dean could catch up. "Yeah?"

"Is there anybody here that would have a clear map of the terrain? Anybody who knows their way around the wood really well?"

Ben narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Yes." He said slowly. "Miss James, the groundskeeper could help."

"Okay, I need to see Miss James right now."

"But…"

"But what?"

"She's a little… weird."

* * *

The Impala was parked down the road a bit from the camp, and Sam pulled his hire car up behind. Sam shielded his eyes and peered through the window. The car was deserted, Dean having taken his jacket and the length of iron that Sam had procured at the builder's yard a little down the street.

He made sure both cars were locked and then looked up toward the wood hemming him in from either side. There was something about it. It seemed cold and uncaring. Malicious, almost.

Sam frowned. It was a wood, for God's sake! With birds and animals and flowers and…

But there were no birds. No creatures ferreting around in the leaf littler. And the only colour there were was the dull greens and murky browns of the forest. Knobbly limbs reached out for him, almost like they would have liked to drag him down, down to Hell.

He shivered, and glanced down. After a moment of hesitation, he made his decision and stepped off the road and into the wood.

Thorns and brambles snared at his jeans as he stumbled around for a foothold. The leaves overhead were so thick that he could hardly see the sun anymore, and he held onto a tree for support while his eyes adjusted to the change in the light.

The tree's bark was strangely slick under his fingers, and Sam pulled away, one hand snaking under his jacket to his pistol loaded with iron rounds. This wasn't normal. The humidity. The oppressive air all around him. The slightly acrid stench that burned his throat as he breathed.

It was almost like he had stepped inside a mouth.

Sam was sorely tempted to shout out his brother's name, but knew that was likely to have little to no effect short of letting the bad guys know where he was. Dean would _so _kick his ass for doing something so stupid.

Assuming, of course, that he was still alive.

_Don't think that!_ His brother had more lives than a cat.

Sam started forward, drawing out his gun as he walked, careful to tread quietly. The forest loomed above him, quietly triumphant. _We've got you now!_

There was a noise behind him, and Sam almost jumped out of his skin as a big-ass crow charged out of the undergrowth and took off into the sky. The bird looked like it couldn't get away quickly enough. "What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Sam asked himself quietly. "You have enough nightmares now without turning ordinary animals into monsters."

_"Lux lucis quod Umbra Smoke quod Speculum , Aufero Illa Res Ut EGO may animadverto Videlicet-"_

_What?_

Someone was reciting some sort of incantation, but not one Sam had ever heard before. He was absolutely certain it was a woman's voice, and he crept forward. Almost all of his deadliest enemies to date had been female, and he was certain that this time he would be prepared for anything.

_"-Permissum haud magis deceptio Exsisto occultus me Is est meus mos Sic mote is exsisto."_

She had her back to him, and her head was bowed over five candles, arranged in a semblance of a pentagram. It was some sort of ritual, but ritual of what, he couldn't quite place. His finger tightened on the trigger, and suddenly the woman returned to English.

_"I now invoke the Law of Three, what once was lost returns to me."_

Any other time he would have exclaimed _Ah ha! _loudly to annoy the hell out of Dean, but as he was trying to stay inconspicuous, he stayed silent. This woman was performing some sort of improvised Pagan ceremony. Even though the last witches he had run into weren't exactly the friendly type, Sam crouched down and watched her.

There was a goblet of water in front of her, and she swirled her finger around it four times before pinching out the candles. "Let the water show me Mary Morgan." She intoned, and a chill went up Sam's spine.

All was quiet for a moment, everything frozen in its bizarre montage. Sam felt like some sort of voyeur as he watched the woman sigh, and then begin to pack her things. He slipped his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, and began to back away.

His foot slipped on a particularly slimy stone, and he almost fell back out onto the road. Sam cartwheeled his arms, and caught hold of a tree's spiny limb, regaining his balance. It was then that he realised that she had heard the noise and was staring through the undergrowth directly at him.

_Aw, shit._

Straightening up, he dusted off his jeans and stepped into plainer view. "Ah, hi," He smiled brightly, running a dirty hand through his hair.

The witch just continued to look at him, her eyebrows raised. She let go of the backpack that she had loaded her candles into. "Um, hi?" She said, not quite knowing how to take this unexpected interruption. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough?" Sam offered tentatively, inwardly cringing at how her face darkened with his questioning statement.

"Before you go running off to the police or the media or whatever, I'm not some satanic worshipper or runaway psycho or anything, right?" She said hurriedly. "I swear, this isn't what it looks li…" She trailed off, aware that it was _exactly_ what it looked like.

"This is awkward." Sam said, seeing her obvious discomfort. "If it means anything, you weren't exactly what I was expecting either." He held out his hand. "Sam."

She eyed him cautiously for a moment before moving to take his hand. "Rachel." She said. Her blue eyes were dark and serious, and her long, sun-bleached hair was pulled into a ponytail behind her head. She was wearing a baggy shirt, _Camp Quentin _emblazoned across the front.

"You work for the Camp." He said with some surprise.

"Don't tell anyone." She practically begged. "I like my job."

"I wont." He assured her. He nodded back to where she had been kneeling. "That looked like some sort of ritual."

"Not really." She admitted. "It was a – It was a divination spell to locate that missing girl."

"Oh."

"Oh God, I want to die." She moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "This is more humiliating than High School."

"How long have you been a practising pagan?"

The question took her completely by surprise. "I beg your pardon-?"

Sam gave a half-smile and repeated his question. As the words sunk into her, her shoulders visibly relaxed and she seemed less tense. The next time she looked up at him, her expression showed respect for a kindred spirit, someone on the level. " I guess I'm just a magnet for useless information." She confessed. "But my mother was big on alternate religions and mysticism and things. She got me into it, so I knew how to 'protect' myself. What's your story?"

"I just… My father realised that the supernatural was closer to our lives than anyone realised."

"Taught by the father. That's… different." Rachel said.

"Different's not a bad thing."

"No. No it isn't."

"You said you were doing a spell for Mary Morgan. Ben Braeden is missing too."

The woman shook her head. "Not for long." She said. "They never stay away for long."

"How do you mean?"

"Walk and talk?" She offered.

"Sure. I guess." And so Sam tucked his hands in his pockets as he walked beside her back to the well-worn path to Camp. "Do you think this could possibly be a satanic rite? Or some kind of blood ritual?"

Rachel shook her head. "I _really _doubt it." She said. "It doesn't have any of the earmarks of any sort of ritual I've ever seen. No symbols. No alter. No offerings." She looked slightly abashed. "_Buuut _I doubt you want to hear the opinions of someone who works in a summer camp."

"Actually," Sam said. "I wouldn't mind at all. New eyes bring a fresh perspective." He looked sideways at her. "What did you mean by 'they never stay away for long'?"

The woman kicked an empty soda can and the two of them watched it bounce down the track. "Fifteen years ago," She said, keeping her eyes determinedly forward. "When I was still a kid, my mom and dad dropped me and my sister Georgia off here for the summer. Everything was fine at first, and then about two weeks in she got really homesick. The camp counsellor got some guy, Derrick Hands, to take her and put her on a bus back to home, and that was the last I ever saw of her. Georgia and Derrick were gone."

Sam was silent. "My folks went frantic, and the accusations that went flying were unbelievable. They though Derrick might have killed her, disposed of the body, and done a runner."

"But he hadn't."

"No." Rachel agreed. "He hadn't. A week later, he stumbled out of that same wood. He wouldn't talk to anyone…" She took a deep breath. "He'd just stare at you. And I found out much later that he wasn't the only one. That Georgia wasn't the only one."

"What happened to Derrick then?"

"I don't know." The woman shrugged. "The doctors never figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

"An hour after he was found, he had a sandwich." Rachel stopped in the middle of the track. Sam stopped as well. "That was the last thing he ever had." She looked him in the eye. "He went into convulsions and died fifteen minutes later." Her face was grim. "There was nothing wrong with the sandwich. His mother had made it herself. And there had been nothing physically wrong with Derrick when they found him."

Sam was listening, but at the same time he was running some elements from European fairy lore through his mind. _In a legend from Carmarthenshire, a man is rescued from a fairy ring only to crumble into dust… in a tale from the Aberystwyth region, a touch of iron causes the recovered woman to disappear… recorded from Mathavarn,__a fairy-ring survivor moulders away when he eats his first bite of food…_

"This is why you're working here. At the Camp."

"There's something wrong here." Rachel said. "Some presence that's snatching away these young girls. And it has to stop. I owe my sister that."

Sam met her eyes, dark and fierce. He gave a short nod, punctuating his thoughts. "Then we should get started." He said. "We should go back to my car. I have things in there so we can do a proper exorcism and flush these things out and find the girl."

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"If we see Ben…" Rachel paused. "If he can't eat our food, we need… we need to figure something out before he dies anyway."

"Yes." Sam said grimly, thinking of how Dean had followed Ben and Mary into the woods, and how he would probably suffer the same fate.


	8. Happy Ending?

She seemed doubtful as she watched him load herbs, books, and assorted religious items into a satchel, and quite frankly, Sam

She seemed doubtful as she watched him load herbs, books, and assorted religious items into a satchel, and quite frankly, Sam couldn't blame her. "Got enough stuff?" She enquired innocently, though he was sure he could sense a sharp edge in her tone.

"Possibly." Sam replied without thinking. "I can't be sure. It depends on what exorcism I'll end up using and that can be determined by simple trial and error..." He would have continued, but stumbled to a stop at the look on Rachel's face. For a minute he had forgotten that the person at his shoulder this time was a rather bemused camp employee. "Sorry." He said quickly. "Sometimes I ramble on."

"I see." She said, not a trace of emotion on her face. She was still holding the little backpack packed with her candles and water goblet, and beside Sam and his bag of gear, it looked a trifle sad and pathetic. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm just. . . I mean I'm not. . ."

"This is scarily new to you, huh?" His voice was sympathetic.

"You could say so. I started in this because I suppose I wanted something else to believe in and my mother was a die-hard believer. But this . . ." She gestured the amulets for several different religions that were laid out on the hood of the car. "This goes way beyond anything I ever expected, ever experienced."

"Rachel." Sam said firmly. "I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you've only scratched the surface on this thing. This is not one evil spirit. Its lots. And the sticking point is, I'm not sure if they're evil anyway, or whether someone's manipulating them."

"Them? Who's them?"

"Honestly? All the information I've been able to collect points to them being fairies."

Immediately Rachel's serious expression dropped and her eyes narrowed. "You're kidding me."

"No." Sam slung the bag over his shoulder. "The original fairies that our Disney garden variety has sprung from are nothing like what we expect today. It's hard to explain."

"So try." The Wiccan challenged.

"When the notion of fairies first hit the mainstream, they weren't like they are now, small and cute and cherub-like with little wings. These guys were the real deal, tall and beautiful." Sam said. "There are many legends on how and why they came here, but the oldest I can find was that they were shut out of Heaven and weren't evil enough to be sent to Hell. They don't belong anywhere."

"And that's made them resentful." Rachel nodded. "I still don't understand why they're taking the little girls."

"I guess that's one thing we're going to have to ask them." He replied. "Normally I have my brother along for the ride."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know." Sam confessed. "He went ahead of me looking for Mary and Ben. He has… history with those two kids."

"How's that?"

"It 's complicated." It felt like a bit of a cop-out, falling back on that well-used phrase. The Wiccan looked at him and then looked away, looking like she was unsure whether she wanted to see this through anymore. "If you… don't think you're up to this, you can head back to the camp. I'll wrap this up."

"No." She said instantly. "I've come this far. The least I can do is see it through to the end."

The wood immediately seemed to close back around them as soon as they took their first steps back into the undergrowth. Sam gulped. It was like something knew what they were going to do, and didn't like the idea very much. Determinedly he cleared his throat and continued on.

"Where would the best place for something like this be?" Rachel asked. "Sam?"

"What? Oh, ah, I guess…" He trailed off. "How about where you were before?"

"Near the ring? I suppose. We can't step into it though."

"Why not?"

"Lore says that then they can snatch you away as well."

"Oh."

Sam proceeded to set up the ritual, amulets, herbs and suchlike. Rachel pulled out her candles, and at Sam's questioning look, she said "Well, it can't hurt, can it?" She proceeded to light them, one by one. He saw that she carried a lighter.

"So you're not a witch." He said.

"What? No. There's no such thing as witches." She scoffed. "Not anymore. Besides, my broomstick doesn't accessorise well."

Sam smiled. He sat cross-legged on the ground and Rachel sat opposite him. "Ready?" He asked her.

"Not really."

He took a breath and began to speak. "Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementiam tuam supplex exposco-" The wiccan sitting opposite him seemed uneasier by the second, and Sam could understand why. Her religion allowed her to play around on the fringes, as many people did, but none of them truly understood what they were messing with. And the responsibility that came with it.

And the power.

"Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus, omni incursio adversarii, omne phantasma-"

Rachel closed her eyes. Her arms fell slack to either said, her hands lying palm-up and open. "Can you feel it? Oh God, it's coming." Sam frowned but did not pause in his recital. "Can you feel it, Sam? The creeping darkness, it's getting closer..." She trailed off. The flames from the candles that the wiccan had lit around them began to flicker uncontrollably although there was no wind.

"Qui cum Patre et eodem spiritu sancto vivit et regnat Deus, per omina saecula saeculorum. Amen." He finished. All was quiet for a minute. "Rachel?" Sam asked. Her head was still bowed, and she didn't seem to be moving. "Rachel?" He asked again, rising up to his knees and reaching across to shake her shoulder. "Hey-"

As soon as his hand made contact with her, her head snapped up. Her eyes were an opaque white. "It that all you've got, Huntsman?" She hissed.

"Oh, Jesus!" Sam almost jumped out of his skin and rocked backwards against a tree.

"You invoke the wrong deity." Rachel said, only it wasn't Rachel. It was hundreds of voices, speaking at once. Speaking through her. "We would not attack you if you had not attacked us. You cannot force us to leave so easily."

"Can't I?"

"No. The old ways have been lost." She swayed. "Even as they have been lost to us."

"Who are you?" Sam asked, getting over his initial shock.

"Ha! You may as well have asked us who _you _were, he with the Gift. The Lonely One." As Sam listened, he swore he could pick individual voices. "Look around you. We are the birds and the animals and the very trees themselves. We are the heartbeat of the land, and are everywhere you turn. We are what was before, and what will be at the end. We are the eternal."

"Never to live and never to die." Sam mused. "Stuck somewhere in the middle."

"And then we are indeed of the same kind, Samuel Winchester." There was a dry, wispy laugh, like wind through the leaves. He didn't like to think on what that meant. "What happens to those who are not deserving of either Heaven or Hell? We live. Forever. It is not a kind fate. And so you bargain with the keepers of the Gates, not caring who says yes, as long as _it stops._"

"Where are the missing girls?"

"There are no missing girls in our kingdom. We are many, but we are one. We are all together."

That sent a chill down his spine. "Do you mean you… turn them into things like you?"

"Ignorant Huntsman! There are no missing girls in our kingdom. We live the way we have lived for many thousands of your years. We do not need to replenish our numbers, as we do not die."

"But I don't-"

"Our ways have not changed. If someone is abusing their powers, it is not we." She said. "They are gone."

"Gone where?"

"Far from here. She who would be Queen has taken them to her realm."

"What for?" Sam asked, certain he would not like the answer

"She will make them to be like her. They will be Her Daughters, and together they will bring the world to it's knees." Rachel's head bowed again.

_Oh God,_ Sam thought. Dean was going to go spare. "Rachel?"

"A warning, Samuel Winchester." The voice was so reed-thin that Sam had to crouch forward to catch it. "Look for treachery close to home, Samuel Winchester. Time changes all man. No being is above temptation. Offer him what he wants, and he will have no other choice but to aid you and yours. You may yet destroy She who would be Queen yet."

"How? I don't know what you mean."

"The other of your blood has the weapon."

"Dean? What weapon does Dean have?"

"The soul." The fairies said. "The soul… of Lilith the Destroyer."

Sam went perfectly still. "What?"

"She is unaware that it still exists. He will stop at nothing to recover it, so he may become Supreme Overlord. You have the advantage. Unite Lilith and her soul, and you will emerge victorious."

"How do I do that? Rachel? Rachel!"

"What?" Head in her hands, Rachel slowly looked up. Her eyes were their ordinary colour again. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked cautiously.

"Do you remember what you said in the last ten minutes?" Sam questioned sharply. The woman looked at him a moment.

"I – I said something about it getting dark." She said nervously. "Didn't I?"

His expression told her everything she needed.

"Somehow you were channelling the spirit of the forest." Sam said.

"Oh. My. God."

Her reaction pretty much summed it up perfectly.

There had only ever been a handful of times that Sam didn't know what to do, where he felt completely helpless. This was one of those times.

_**Three hours later**_

Sam, Dean and Rachel stood in the shadows of an ancient elm tree and watched as the police and volunteers once again combed the area before coming back with the verdict.

There was still no trace of the missing girl, Mary Morgan.

Ten minutes ago, Lisa Braeden and Jude Morgan came for Ben, along with Mary's adoptive parents. Tears sprung anew, and as much as Ben was deliriously happy to see his mother again, Dean knew that a small kernel of resentment had blossomed in the kid's chest after they could not find Mary. _He had promised._ He told Mary's folks again and again that he was so sorry for not having looked after her, but no matter how many times he was assured it was not his fault, he continued to blame himself.

Dean hoped that it wouldn't turn into self-loathing. He had already been down that road, and it never ended well.

Ben had turned to where Dean was standing, his eyes red but his face dry. He hadn't told his mom or his stepdad about the Winchesters. He thought it would make things more painful for all of them.

The kid turned away.

Dean sighed. Sam looked at him. His brother looked older and wearier than ever.

"We'll get her back." He said.

"Do you think so?" His brother looked Sam right in the eye. "'Cause I seriously doubt it."

"We'll get on Lilith's tail, and find her. We will." Sam assured him.

"And look at how well that went last time. And the time before." Dean snapped back.

"You really liked that girl, didn't you?" Rachel asked quietly. She was still in her mud streaked Camp Quentin uniform.

"There was just something…" He trailed off.

"Dean."

"What?"

"When Rachel was… channelling, she said something." Sam and Rachel shared a look. On the walk back to camp, he had filled her in on what had happened to her. It was only fair that she should know. "She said… that you had a weapon that we could use to kill Lilith. Or seriously wound her and force her to surrender or something."

"Really?" Dean turned back to them, wearing a razor sharp smile.

"Dean," Sam said. "When you… when you were, um, _down there,_ did you steal anything? Specifically, anything from a guy named - Belial?"

Dean looked down at the ground. He was silent for a long while. "I didn't steal it." He finally said grudgingly. "I won it. Fair and square."

"You… won it."

"Easiest damn poker game I've ever played."

"And he _gave_ it to you?"

"You can't get out of a contract."

"Can I see it?"

"I guess." His brother fished in his shirt, before drawing out the amulet that Sam had given him, oh so long ago.

"But that's-" Sam started, and then stopped.

The eyes seemed to be set with two miniscule green gems that winked up at them both. "He asked to hold it, and when I got it back it was like this." Dean said. "I never really knew what he put in it, but he whinged about it the whole time, so I took it."

"You took it?"

"Demon? No scruples? Is it something important?" He pulled a face. "What did the trees tell you, oh great Yoda?"

"That-" Sam took a breath and began again.

"That's Lilith's soul."

Dean pondered that for a moment.

"I'm hungry."

* * *

AN: No happy ending.

Do I own Supernatural? Nah.

Rachel and the rest? Yeah.


End file.
